


Finding Their Way

by Snowfilly1



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley arguing with books, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hellhounds don't work like that, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), audiobooks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: "Tonight, Crowley takes him to a Greek place they've never visited before, and it's a mixture of the very familiar - they've spent centuries in Greece over the course of their lives - and the completely new. They don't have to hide. They don't have to pretend to be working. Crowley doesn't restrain his laughter."Crowley's slowly making himself at home in the bookshop. A date, sharing stories and starting to share their feelings. They've got all the time in the world, this is only the beginning.Written for the Ineffable Husbands FB group 'Bad Omens' challenge (there's nothing bad in this fic, I promise)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 93
Collections: Week 5: Bad Omens





	Finding Their Way

**Author's Note:**

> No major warnings for anything; Crowley has a few minor issues with his self esteem and is too tired to take things any further, but it's just really them having a good evening together and Crowley arguing about stories with his angel.

Aziraphale snaps his fingers as he nears the shop door and feels an echoing thread of power inside; Crowley doing something. Not that he minds, he's been trying to persuade the demon to treat this place like home for the past three weeks, but he thinks it's the first time he's ever felt Crowley performing a miracle there without him.

He hangs his coat up and walks in, breathing in the quiet scent of the shop; the books and ink and the demon himself. Home.

'Wasn't expecting you back so soon, angel,' Crowley mutters.

'Auction ended quicker than I expected. Been here long?'

Crowley stretches and leans back, wrists crossed above his head and shirt riding up. Aziraphale tries not to look too obviously. 'Couple of hours.' He looks entirely at peace, an angel wing mug next to him half filled with coffee and his jacket hung neatly (neatly!) on one of the shelves.

Aziraphale can't help his smile, the sheer joy at the newness of it all. Crowley able to come in whenever he wanted. Crowley wanting to be here.

'I'm...' and he trails off, unable to find the right word for once. 'Glad' or 'pleased' isn't enough; 'delighted' might be true but it sounds too dramatic. He settles, instead, for something he'd been doing recently - resting a hand on Crowley's shoulder. After a minute, the demon reaches up and covers it with his own.

'Yeah. Same.' Crowley squeezes, looking away. 'Any books to bring in?'

'Being delivered tomorrow. They weren't letting anyone check lots out today, too many buyers.'

'In that case, can we go for dinner tonight? You'll be too busy cooing at paperbacks tomorrow.'

'I do not coo to my books!' he protests.

'You do! You were practically snogging that poetry collection you had on your desk last week.'

'Crowley, I was repairing the spine! I can't help it if you have to get close.' He can feel the amusement in Crowley's expression, the warmth of something he wants to believe is love.

'Snogging. Anyway, dinner? My treat?'

He nods, and Crowley lets go of his hand, stands in one fluid movement.

They haven't been out for a meal since the Ritz, so this is another new thing. Crowley had spent the first week in the shop, shadowing Aziraphale from shelf to till to storeroom, reluctant to be further than arm's length away; a mixture of tension and exhaustion twisting his face. 

Early on in the second week, he'd turned round and found the demon sprawled on the floor, as though his corporation had simply had enough, so deeply asleep that he was more willing to describe it as passed out. He'd settled Crowley onto the couch then, found him a blanket and left him with a mug of coffee which had firm instructions not to go cold, stale or bitter. He'd thought Crowley might sleep for a few days; it had been 12 before he stirred and 13 before he'd woken and he'd spent an embarrassingly large amount of that time just sitting watching him.

He'd bolted as soon as he'd woken up, apologising for being a nuisance, and after a couple of days gotten into the routine of coming to the shop every evening. He'd not wanted to go out, and Aziraphale hadn't wanted to push it.

Tonight, Crowley takes him to a Greek place they've never visited before, and it's a mixture of the very familiar - they've spent centuries in Greece over the course of their lives - and the completely new.

They don't have to hide. They don't have to pretend to be working. Crowley doesn't restrain his laughter, doesn't try and play down his enthusiasm for the retsina, is comfortable enough to lean over and take some food from Aziraphale's plate. It's perfect, and somewhere around dessert, Aziraphale finds the courage to tell him so.

Crowley blushes, stammers, looks away.

He knows, in that instant, where this is going to end up and also that Crowley isn't ready. He's still exhausted, still trying to find his way back to himself. But it's there, an unspoken promise.

_Wait for me, angel._

When they finally get up to leave, he helps Crowley with his jacket. A useless gesture that neither of them need; one that allows a lingering press of his fingers against the back of Crowley's wrist.

_When you're ready, dearest._

'Thank you,' Crowley says softly, and he can't tell with the glasses but it feels like Crowley's looking straight at him.

They drive back in silence, Crowley almost obeying the speed limit, and pull up in the usual spot. Late summer warmth cascades around them. Painted by the sunset, Crowley's hair is gold and copper, fire streaks across his forehead. He's letting it grow out again, and Aziraphale is awed all over again by how beautiful he is.

'Come in?' He manages not to add 'stay?' He's asked that twice in the past few days and twice it's been too much.

A grin in response, and a minute later, they're falling onto the couch together. Content.

'Any plans for the rest of the evening, angel?' It's not quite a come-on, more an acknowledgement that they'll be at that stage soon.

Aziraphale shakes his head, aware that he's pretty much leaning on Crowley's shoulder. 'Whatever you like, dear. What were you doing before I got back?'

He feels the sudden shift in emotion before Crowley moves. Only a fraction, but 6,000 years of not being able to talk freely has left them adept at communicating without words, and this is Crowley putting the barriers up in a hurry. Shame? Embarrassment? Unease, certainly, and that's the very last thing he'd want to make him feel.

'It's alright, dearest. Sorry, I didn't mean to pry.'

'You'll laugh,' Crowley mutters. ''s stupid.'

He wants to reassure with touch; knows that they're not quite at that stage yet. Wants to hold Crowley against him and apologise for everything that's led up to the knowledge he'd be mocked for enjoying something.

'No, I wouldn't. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I would.'

Crowley looks down. Brings a hand up to touch his glasses as though he's going to remove them, and brings it down again.

'Crowley. Darling.' The name, used in his heart for so long, spills out without conscious effort and he hears a sharp inhale of breath that neither of them need.

'Here...Would you...' and he extends one arm, trying to offer without words. 'Crowley?'

There's a flicker of a smile and a blur of movement that ends with Crowley close alongside him, thighs over his lap, arm tentatively around Aziraphale's shoulders. 

'Dearest. My dearest Crowley,' he says softly and pulls Crowley closer to him; wraps both arms around the demon and holds him.

'Angel' is muttered somewhere into his neck, said with such unguarded affection that he may as well have said love.

A few minutes later, he feels Crowley relax. It's a sudden movement, all his limbs sagging slightly and his chin dropping onto Aziraphale's arm.

'I was listening to a book,' Crowley blurts out, the words so quick fire that Aziraphale needs a moment to parse the sentence. Longer to realise that Crowley's pushed his glasses onto his forehead and is looking straight at him.

On instinct, he curves a hand around Crowley's cheek. Feels the demon lean into it.

'Listening to a book? Which one?'

'Wanted to try something new,' which isn't quite an answer. 'Read an article about it, if you can't read properly, they say this is easier so...I thought...Told you it was stupid.'

'How is that stupid, Crowley?' He keeps his voice gentle.

'Cos I'm listening to a bloody kids book, alright?'

It's so easy to lean forward a fraction more and let his lips glide across the softness of Crowley's cheek. To pull Crowley even closer to him with the hand on his face, until they're almost facing each other. 'Nothing you enjoy is stupid, my dear. I'm just glad you've found something that makes you happy. What book were you listening to?'

'You read the first couple to Warlock. Harry Potter.'

'I remember. You liked those.'

Crowley nods, leaning forwards as he does so. The longest strands of his hair drag against Aziraphale's lips. 'I enjoyed them. I just thought...I wanted to find out what happened. And...you know I can't make it through a book, right?'

Aziraphale nods; he's guessed at that in the past, although it had thrown him how quickly Crowley had adapted to reading things on a phone screen. 'Would you like to listen to the rest?'

A smile in response and something that's almost a nod.

He lets Crowley start it playing again, lets Crowley lean back against him a bit more. He dims the lights with a thought and wraps an arm around the demon. They can do this now, and the thought is almost overwhelming. They can share things, find out new things together.

'Are you sure you don't mind?' Crowley asks, in something that's nearly a whisper.

'Of course not. I...'

They listen for a while, pausing briefly for Crowley's rant about 'that isn't how Hellhounds work, angel, they don't know you're going to die, they're not that sort of bad omen,' and again later for 'that isn't how shapeshifting works either,' and somewhere in the middle of the second rant, for Aziraphale to say bluntly 'I love you, Crowley.'

Crowley stays the night, wrapped in his arms on the couch listening to stories, and that's enough. They have all the time in the world, and they have each other. They'll find their way.

**Author's Note:**

> This (currently) wins the prize for the oddest circumstances I've ever written a fic in, and I know it's suffered for me not being able to think straight but I wanted to get it done. 
> 
> I hope you and yours stay safe and healthy.


End file.
